Souls of a Kind
by Rjalker
Summary: The Tidelord could see all-all their fates, all their joy and sorrow, all of their stories. Connected one-shots about the dragons in my clan. Updates will be random.
1. Sihta

The hatchery was dark and quiet, the occupants of two of the three nests sleeping soundly, breathing even and dreams peaceful. Both of the sleepers were imperials, but only one of them belonged to the clan. Ahbriigol might have been new, but she had pledged her allegiance to Renyor, and had already done her share of gathering and lair expanding in the few weeks she'd been with them.

But the stranger with the platinum scales and silver gembond? She and her mate had rented the nesting spot, and would be leaving as soon as their hatchlings were able to travel. The only thing they were contributing was...well, Sihta wasn't really sure _what_ they had offered in return for the space. All she knew was that they had chosen her lair because they wanted their children to have blue eyes.

They wanted them to be born into the Water element.

The blue Tundra lay curled around her eggs in the far corner of the dim hatchery, wishing, not for the first time, that she hadn't been traded from her old clan for a stack of treasure that hadn't even made a _dent_ in Renyor and Kahlvot's hoard.

But her clan had been desperate. They were on the verge of starvation, of lairlessness, and the market was the lesser of two evils they could have bestowed upon her.

First it had been her father, his body, mind, and spirit sold to the whims of the Stormcatcher, now forever forced to carry out His will, even if it meant fighting his own family and betraying the Windsinger's trust in them.

If it had just been her father, her family might have been able to survive. But her mother's nest was the only one in the clan, and the others were all either too weak, or too old to be worthy of _any_ God's attention.

So her brother and sister were the next ones to be sold into a war that wasn't theirs, and they weren't even given the privilege to join their father. Instead, they were sent to the Icewarden.

But it still wasn't enough. There were too many mouths to feed, and as a newborn hatchling that might not even survive its first winter, there was no point in wasting any of it on her. But even the most self-preserving of her elders hadn't been able to stomach the thought of exalting yet _another_ child, so she'd been sent to the market instead.

The ground there was nothing but packed dirt and polished slate that cracked under the footsteps of the larger dragons, and had to be constantly replaced by a team of miners that she had seen scurrying about. She didn't see the point in it, if it was so easily broken, but the auctioneers insisted that it be maintained. No one would want to purchase a dragon that was covered in dust and mud, now would they?

She'd been forced to stand up on a tall stage with other hatchlings so that all of the buyers could see them, and had to wait in line until her name was called, before she was pushed forward to the front to present herself, walking around in circles to show all of her features, and spreading her wings to show off their length.

Her clown gene was praised without end, her lack of other details or markings going conveniently unmentioned.

Then she was removed from the stage, and placed on her own little pedestal to await whatever fate was in store for her.

She was there for an entire day, frightened and alone, before a young Guardian wyvern stepped out of the crowded walkway, and asked for her name.

She hadn't been able to answer. She'd barely learned to speak yet, and her mother hadn't given her a name.

You didn't name something unless you were willing to become attached to it, and her mother hadn't been willing to love her.

And now here she was, in a lair embedded in a coral reef, in the middle of the Sea of a Thousand Currents.

She loved Renyor, and Kahlvot, and the other members of her clan here, for they were the only family she had ever known. But her fur was meant to feel the breezes of the Zephyr Steppes she'd never had the chance to test herself in, and if she even tried venturing out into the ocean on her own, she knew that the thing that was meant to _protect_ her from the elements was the one thing that would drag her down, even as thin as her summer coat was.

She liked it better when they'd lived in the Tsunami Flats. At least then she could venture out onto the shore to run and jump and fly. Here, in the Fishspine Reef, she was forced to stay inside the lair almost constantly.

It wasn't fair.

Besides Wind, she was the only Tundra in the entire clan. But even that was no comfort. Wind had been born beneath the sea's waves, and she swam through the depths as though the water were air. Wind swam the way Sihta wished she could fly, and she almost hated her for it.

But Wind was the one that always volunteered to help her to the surface, or invited her along to go hunting, or showed her the garden she'd started on the other side of the reef.

It was Wind that always brought her back feathers when hunting parties were sent to the surface to train their skills, and it was Wind's mate that had granted Sihta one of the few wishes she had in life

Avarice and Wind might have been in love, but no one could ignore how his stunning colors would mix so perfectly with Renyor's. The two Guardians had mated, and were blessed with three healthy eggs before Sihta had even reached maturity.

The hatchlings that emerged were barely a few weeks younger than Sihta, and grew faster, strengthened and attuned to their environment as they were. She hadn't meant to, and their colors hardly matched, but somehow she'd ended up falling for the single drake produced in the clutch.

His name was Gremal, and he had been so playful and sweet that from the moment she'd laid eyes on him, she loved him.

At first, she'd felt horrible. He was only a hatchling, and she barely any more than that. She'd expected Renyor to be angry, or disgusted, when she finally gathered the courage to tell her, but the older dragon had only been kind and understanding.

"We are dragons," She'd said, curling up around Sihta and pulling her wings over her in a comforting hug, "The laws that rule other animals hold no sway over us. Age does not matter, breed does not matter, gender does not matter. There is a soul-mate waiting out there for all of us, even if we are only meant to be friends. If you know in your heart that he is the one for you, and he feels the same, then it is meant to be."

And it was meant to be. Sihta could feel this, in her blood, in her heart, and in the three eggs nestled against her body.

She might have been bitter about her old clan's betrayal, but she could never regret this.

If she had been free to leave the lair without the need for assistance, she would have been more than thrilled with her life. She had a mate who loved her, and a clan that would protect both her, and her children to their dying breath. She never went hungry, and there were plenty of enjoyable ways that she could spend her time. Renyor had made a promise that no dragon would ever be forced to leave their clan against their will, and no one would be exalted unless they chose to be.

Unless...they chose to be.

Which was the problem, wasn't it?

The Gods wanted only the strongest in their ranks. To take in anything less would mean a lowered payment for the clan that was exalting.

And as of the last Tally, the Tidelord had given Gremal and his sister Lanata the ranking of fifteen.

Fifteen, out of twenty-five possible rankings.

Renyor and Kahlvot were only at rank thirteen, and Manhri, the fourth oldest of the clan, was level fourteen.

Gremal and Lanata had been gone every single day in the past week, waking up before the sunstones even began to glow, and only taking enough time to eat, and awaken those that requested, before they were gone, swimming for the surface with such easy speed and grace that Sihta felt heavier just watching them.

Her eggs were due to hatch any day now, and Gremal…

He hadn't even been there to see them quicken. The entire _clan_ had been there to watch as the eggs glowed, first white, then slowly changing to a deep, beautiful blue as the little souls inside fully aligned with the water they were surrounded by, and the Tidelord's booming voice that echoed as a constant hum beneath Sihta's feet and through the walls.

She could never comprehend the prophecies He intoned, could never hear them any clearer than the dull roar that echoed through the waves.

But her children would be able to hear Him, would be able to hear His prophecies, and they would be able watch their own prophecies unfolding in the currents of the ocean, and the shifting masses of colorful fish that filled the reef. Her children would be able to flit and play to their heart's content, innocent in a way that had been denied to her.

Their eyes would be the blue of the sea, and they would belong to this clan, fully.

But she couldn't belong, not if Gremal was gone. Not if he...exalted.

That was what he was training so hard for, right? That was why he returned to the lair late at night, limping and bloodied but smiling as though he couldn't be happier?

The thought of him leaving almost brought her to tears, and Sihta curled tighter around her three eggs, closing her eyes so she wouldn't have to see the wyverns that _weren't_ about to lose their mates.

As always happened when she closed her eyes, the Tidelord's song grew louder, humming in her very bones and vibrating inside her skull.

With the voice of a God inside her head, it was hard to focus on her sadness, and within a few moments, her mind was cleared of everything but the Tidelord's eternal hum, and after that, it didn't take long for her to be drawn into the murky depths of sleep where she couldn't hope to dream, and all identity was lost as she was drawn into the Water God's endless prophecy.

Her eggs would hatch soon, and she couldn't afford to be bitter when they opened their eyes to see her face for the first time. The only expression they deserved to see was love, and the Tidelord would help to soothe her fears until that was the only emotion she could show them.

Everything would work itself out in the end, whether she knew it or not.


	2. Feldspar

Feldspar could see Aranwen at the far end of the dim cavern, sorting through a treasure chest that was bigger than their entire den. There was no doubt in Feldspar's mind that the contents of the chest were equally as massive, and made a note to watch where they were going.

Most of the larger dragons in the clan were used to living around smaller breeds, and for as long as Feldspar had been alive, they had never seen an accident occur where a Guardian or Imperial accidentally squashed one of their clanmates. But they had heard about it happening before, when Renyor had first founded the clan.

Most of the larger dragons were always aware of the way their body was positioned, and had trained themselves to be equally aware of where their smaller clanmates were, and always watched where they stepped or spread their wings.

But Aranwen was not one of those dragons.

The only thing she was ever hyper-aware of was her Charge-a frightening Serthis woman that Feldspar had made sure never to be left alone with-and the treasure she hoarded.

Stepping fully out of the smaller, fae-sized tunnel and into the larger cavern, Feldspar hesitated a moment, judging their options, before lifting their wings and taking to the air.

They wanted to talk to Aranwen, but they also wanted to avoid Veys, if it was even possible.

They couldn't see the Serthis woman, but that didn't mean she wasn't in the cavern somewhere.

Feldspar wasn't the best flier. The air felt alien and strange under their wings, no matter how many times they practiced. If only Aranwen has been born in the clan, and not the Viridian Labyrinth. Swimming was so much easier.

But ungraceful flier or not, Feldspar managed to get across the massive cavern in record time, their hearts starting to pound harder with nervous excitement the closer they got to the Guardian, and the resulting adrenaline lending their wings more speed than usual.

They made sure to slow to a glide once they got within a few dozen feet, eyes carefully locked onto the idle twitching of Aranwen's tail as she dug through her chest of treasures.

One careless flick, and they would be swatted out of the air like a fly.

Frills quivering with nerves, Feldspar gathered their courage and then jerked their wings in a sudden movement that sent their entire body tumbling haphazardly through the air towards the Guardian's face, calling out as loudly as they could muster, "Aranwen!"

Sudden movement and noise were the best ways to get the attention of a larger dragon, and Feldspar could only hope that it would be enough to drag Aranwen's attention away from her hoard.

Fortunately, it was, and Aranwen jerked as though she'd been stung, her massive head swinging up so that her face blocked out everything Feldspar could see. Those Nature-green eyes stared at them as though Aranwen weren't quite sure what she was looking at. After a moment though, she blinked, and shook her head a bit as though to clear cobwebs from her mind.

When she spoke, Feldspar could feel the sound vibrating through every single one of their bones. They could feel every syllable shake the air around them. They could feel every word shake them, literally, to their core. They had been expecting this. They were used to this. Larger dragons always sounded 'shaking' when you were in the air instead of the water.

Aranwen spoke, and Feldspar was ready for the shaking in their bones.

"What do you want?"

They fought to remain airborne, the sound vibrations wreaking havoc on their untrained wings. Somehow, they managed to keep themselves aloft, and dared to move closer, drifting to the side so that they were positioned near one of Aranwen's large green eyes. She would be able to see them better this way, and the sound waves wouldn't affect Feldspar as much.

Feldspar drew in a deep breath before calling out, "I wanted to talk to you!"

Aranwen blinked again, and Feldspar watched the translucent eyelid sweep over the dark green iris.

"I'm listening."

Even out of the direct line of the sound waves, it was still difficult for Feldspar to maintain their flight from this close.

But they persevered, not wanting to be too forward and ask if they could perch on Aranwen's horns. They were here to prove themselves, after all.

"I found something while I was out in the Coliseum. I thought you might like it. To add to your collection." They waved their tail towards the treasured chest far below.

Aranwen tilted her head to the side, the single eye facing Feldspar lighting up in excitement as her mouth cracked open in a smile. "Really? What is it?"

Feldspar had to resist the urge to grin, their heart pounding again, but this time with pride. "A Shadow Runestone." They said, trying to contain their excitement. They had to remain calm and cool if they were going to impress a seasoned treasure-hunter like Aranwen. "I found it in the Ghostlight Ruins, and Lanata and Manrhi took turns carrying it back for me." They wiggled their frills, unable to completely contain their excitement despite their best attempts to maintain composure. "It's Guardian sized, and there were otherworldly auras all over it." They didn't need to explain exactly why that detail was important. Any dragon who knew _anything_ about Runestones knew that the oldest and most powerful ones attracted ghosts like flames attracted moths. The older ones also tended to be much larger than ones made today. The size of the Runestone reflected the amount of magic that had been used in its creation, and it was an unfortunate but basic fact of life that many things had been lost to the sands of time, including the art of imbuing Runestones with more than a small amount of magic.

Ancient Runestones could be used for many, wildly varying purposes, depending on where it originated, the Deity it was imprinted for, and the Elemental alignment of the dragon trying to use it.

They could be used from anything from simple heating or cooling systems, to forges and healing sites.

And Shadow Runestones were some of the rarest of all. And rarity and worth went hand in hand.

And if there was one thing Feldspar knew Aranwen loved, it was treasure.

The Runestone technically belonged to Feldspar, so a portion of any treasure the clan gained from its use would go to them. Other clans-especially Shadow clans-would pay a small fortune just to come and _see_ it. Not that Renyor would allow anyone to charge anything too exorbitant. Even if they listed its viewing for the lowest price on the market, they would be rolling in treasure in no time at all.

And almost half of that treasure would go to Feldspar.

But they had no need for treasure. They weren't fond of apparel or skins, and Cho'hara was the only familiar they could ever see themselves bonding with. The clan kept a massive stock of food, so they were never hungry, and they were more than capable of hunting for themselves should the need ever arise.

No, there was only one thing Feldspar wanted that they didn't already have.

Aranwen's eye had gotten so wide that Feldspar could see their reflection in it, and the Guardian was almost vibrating with excitement. And Feldspar hadn't even told her everything yet.

"Aranwen," They said, "I know that I am much younger than you, and I know that you and Lahilo have already shared a nest. I know that you aren't used to being around smaller dragons, but I...I really like you, Aranwen. And I just wanted you to know that. So that's why I've decided that my share of the treasure from the Runestone should go to you."

It took a moment for their words to register, and then Aranwen's head reared back, so that she was once more facing Feldspar head-on, both of her eyes as wide as the moons, her mouth hanging open wide. "You-you _what_?"

This time, the sound was only strong enough that Feldspar had to focus to feel it shaking their bones. Aranwen's voice had come out as a shocked, almost-whisper.

Feldspar nodded vigorously, completely assured. "Yes. All of the treasure that I earn from the Runestone will go to you, and your Charge."

"But-" Aranwen shook her head from side to side violently, and the sudden change in the air current almost knocked Feldspar to the ground before they managed to right themselves. Aranwen didn't even seem to notice the little mishap. "You can't just- _give_ me all your treasure! I can't take it from you, that's just not right! You need it more than I do and-"

Feldspar let out a small contuse, aimed to fly right past Aranwen's nose to interrupt her. "I _can_ give you my treasure, and you _can_ accept it." They said firmly, "I won't need it, because I'm...Well, I'm leaving the clan."

Aranwen was shocked into silence, and her mouth snapped shut with an audible click. A moment passed, and she seemed to hunch in on herself.

"You-you're leaving? But I thought-" She cut herself off, and then she paled. "Wait. Wait, you said you-you said you liked me. You're-" A note of shame entered her voice. "You're leaving because of me, aren't you?"

Feldspar opened their mouth to respond, but a chilling laugh suddenly cut through the air, and Feldspar suddenly noticed the _shadow_ high above on the ceiling, wound around the stalactites.

It was Veys. Feldspar automatically tensed, just barely able to make out the shape of her pale face hidden amongst the shadows on the ceiling.

Veys was an assassin of the highest rank, a Venomblade. And she was from a 'clan' of Serthis that originated in the Viridian Labyrinth. They were not like normal Serthis, which were usually around the size of a fae. These Serthis could grow to massive size, and there were stories about some of them that were bigger than Guardians.

As it was, Veys was only slightly smaller than Aranwen, and a mountain compared to Feldspar.

And she made no secret of her contempt for dragons. If it weren't for the treasure Aranwen hoarded for her, the Guardian would have died long before she'd ever had a chance to join Renyor's clan.

Feldspar had to resist the urge to hiss in anger, and _really_ had to resist the urge to blast Veys with a bolt of magic.

But that wouldn't help their standing with Aranwen any. Most of the Guardians in the clan were relaxed and almost casual with their Charges. But Aranwen was not one of those Guardians. She worshipped the ground Veys walked on, and it was the reason she was still in debt to the Serthis. She would rather appease her with treasure than ever actually try to end the contract Veys had on her, and _that_ was the main reason Feldspar had decided to leave.

They would go out, and they would travel the world, and maybe someday they would find their way to the Viridian Labyrinth. They would find the person who had set a bounty on Aranwen's head, and they would either find some way to negotiate for its removal, and if that didn't work they would beat the person into the ground until they changed their mind.

But that wasn't the only reason Feldspar was leaving. They were leaving because they were strong, they knew how to fight and hunt and train. They knew from Preston and his slowly-expanding courier system that a lot of the clans out in the world were struggling just to feed themselves.

And Feldspar could help them.

They were strong enough to fight on their own, and they were experienced enough to help other dragons learn. They could make a difference in the world, and they wanted to. They didn't need the treasure the Runestone would bring, because they had never had to want for anything in their life. But that wasn't true for every dragon out there.

Veys was still laughing, but it had devolved into quiet hissing now, and Feldspar took the opportunity to move closer to Aranwen. "Yes, Aranwen, I like you. But I am leaving because I feel I can make the world a better place out there more than I can down here. If I can help you settle your debt to Veys, I will, because you don't deserve to constantly be looking over your shoulder to make sure _that_ ," They jerked their tail towards the ceiling to indicate the still-sissing assassin "-thing isn't going to kill you. You deserve to be happy, and safe. And even though I'm not a Guardian like you are, the Tidelord commands my will just as much as he does yours. I have to leave, Aranwen. And I just wanted you to know before I left that I think you're one of the most beautiful dragons I will ever meet."

They had said everything they had come to say. Aranwen knew how Feldspar felt about her, and she knew that she wouldn't have to worry as much about hoarding treasure for her Charge.

They turned to leave, content with the way things were. They knew their purpose, they knew their path.

Aranwen let them go without another word, but that was to be expected.

She wasn't the most talkative dragon in the clan.

And Feldspar was at peace with their decision.


End file.
